Silver Queen: The Tale of Elrond and Celebrían
by Maiaron
Summary: Who was Elrond's first love? The story begins with Celebrían, his first inspiration and passion. Essentially, a romance ;), with adventure and travel! 2013 Update: I have resumed this abandoned fic! WIP. Please review! This story begins around the Second Age, 1701. Much of the bones of this story can be found in Tolkien's "Unfinished Tales." Rated M for later chapters.
1. Galadriel

The Tale of Elrond and Celebrian  
  
  
All characters in this story are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No infringement is intended upon their use.  
  
Chapter 1: Galadriél  
  
The motion of the horse beneath herself was hypnotic. The elf blinked, and turned slowly, gazing back over her shoulder. The lands of Lórinand were slowly falling away from her grasp. She placed her hand on the cantle of her saddle as she looked down, and shook her head then slowly turned back towards the east.  
  
The west. The phrase moved through her like quick-silver. In the west, there was the sea. Her eyes drifted down to her finger. The ring glistened like a pool of adamant. Nenya's power was alive, living and breathing, slowly becoming a part of herself. After Celebrimbor had made it, and given it to her, her ache for the calls of the gulls had grown increasingly intense  
  
The ring spoke to her, gentle whispers of sweetness and love, and of power, and of a quiet, unplaceable ache. It had told her that the great darkness had passed; that it was safe now, safe to travel westwards again. It wasn't simply the ring though, there had been much talk of the fall of Sauron, and despite residual skirmishes,Galadriél knew that she could now safely leave the haven of Lorinand.  
  
She thought of the north, then. Imladris was nearer now. Imladris, and Celeborn. Lórinand had been a haven, her daughter could not have stayed in Eriador... not with the wars. But still, it had been too long that she had been without her father... she was a grown woman now.  
  
"Mother?"  
  
The voice roused her from her musing. She turned and looked into the face of the young, silver-haired elf that rode beside her. Her daughter.  
  
"Mother, Khazad-Dum draws near." 


	2. Celebrían

All characters, mine aside,in this story are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No infringement is intended upon their use.

Chapter 2: Celebrían

Celebrían looked upon the East Gate of the mines. Many pillars, large enough that six elves could not circle one with their arms, stood in four long rows, two rows on each side of the entrance, supporting a great overhang of the mountain. They were like sentinels, both warning and welcoming. The three elves that rode with them took ahead, cantering under the great overhang of rock that shaded the massive stone doors in recesses of darkness.

As they rode under the rock, the air became cool and damp, yet totally alive. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Celebrían searched itensely into the depths ahead of herself. With sudden echoing hoofbeats, the other elves burst out of the darkness in front of her. Their eyes were wide with fear and surprise. The leader spared a momentary glance at Celebrían, his eyes probing into hers, then turned to her mother.

"Galadriél," he began, a note of suspicion in his voice. "The doors of Khazad-Dum are closed..."

"Yes, Linron."

She continued as his mouth fell open.

"The doors of Khazad-Dum are closed to bar the outside, despite that the Darkness has fallen. All is well, it is simply the kind of people they are. They will let us pass."

"You are sure that the Darkness is gone?"

"Gone?" she replied, "Perhaps no. But at rest for at least a little while. All is safe now."

"Mother," Celebrían broke in impatiently, "If the doors are closed, how are we then to pass through the mines?"

The eyes of the four others turned upon her, and then the three looked back at Galadriél.

A serene smile spread across her face.

"Don't worry, I'm sure that Durin will let pass friends of Celebrimbor the craftsman. The dwarves are good friends of his people."

That said, she dismounted, the others following suit, and led the small party up to the towering stone doors at the back of the giant cavity. Upon reaching them, she spoke aloud:

"We come as friends of Lord Celebrimbor. We beg passage through the glorious Dwarven city of Khazad-Dum to reach the Western Gate."

Silence and utter stillness followed.

Celebrían turned to Linron, who only reached out and comfortingly took her free hand.

All eyes of the party moved to Galadriél, whose head was bowed and smiling.

There was another moment of silence, and then with aching slowness, the doors parted.

Blinding golden light burst through the crack and erupted outwards, flooding the darkness in its splendour as the doors ground slowly open.


	3. Khazad-Dum

**III ~ Khazad-Dum**

* * *

With a thunderous boom that made their lungs shake, the doors finished their outward swing. The light that the five now stood in nearly rivaled that of midday sun. Celebrían's hand involuntarily tightened. When she felt a responding squeeze, she turned and looked into Linron's laughing face.

"Welcome to Khazad-Dum, Celebrían."

Celebrían felt her heart swell and her stomach fall as she returned her eyes to what stood before her. What had to be dozens of towering pillars of white stone and gold held up the soaring ceiling, and banners of maroon velvet fell from it, waving gently in the soft air that moved around them. Thousands of dwarves, talking, laughing, and shouting moved amongst them, filling the hall with noise that rolled and kneaded together to create a kind of droning cacophony of voices. Her lips parted, as she tried to take in the scene before herself. It was an city, entirely enclosed in the bosom of the mountain. As her eyes drifted downwards, she noticed a group of dwarves, dressed all in the same armour, moving quickly towards them.

The dwarves halted briskly in front of them.

After looking closely at them for a moment, the leader of the group, a particularly burly dwarf, with bright eyes and a bushy yellow beard, stepped forward and introduced himself.

"Greetings, friends of the honourable Lord Celebrimbor. My name is Throin, Protector of Khazad-Dum."

Galadriel smiled.

"Greetings, Throin, Protector of Khazad-Dum, and child of Aulë."

At this, Throin straightened. Galadriel continued.

"My name is Galadriel. I travel with my daughter, and these three friends. We wish passage through your city."

"Galadriel?!" He grumbled to himself, bushy brows drawing close together. He squinted at her.

She nodded affirmation.

The transformation in the dwarf was so quick, Celebrían could hardly follow it. Hearty laughter burst from his mouth, as he stepped forward, swiftly grasping her mother's hand in his own.

"It is an honour, Lady Galadriel, that I can barely communicate." He chuckled. "It has been far too long that the dwarves of Khazad-Dum have been without your presence. It would be an honour, if you would drink with King Durin tonight." He then glanced around at the party that stood before him.

Galadriel nodded, and still smiling turned towards Celebrían.

"This is my daughter, Celebrían, and Linron, Renaith, and Fendil." She said, turning to each in turn.

"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, "Perhaps it would be best if you met with him presently! Please, come with me."

Celebrían watched her mother smile again, as she accepted the invitation.

"We would be honoured, Lord Throin."

"Wonderful!" And with that, he turned to several of the dwarves that had come with him.

"Bain! Rogran! Gaith! Take care of our guests' horses. And be sure they're well fed and groomed!"

Three of the dwarves stepped forward and bowed, and without a tremor of nervousness, took the reins of the five horses, mammoth next to them, and led them away.

It was then that Celebrían realized that she was still holding Linron's hand.

"Just like a child," She thought to herself as she drew her hand away, glancing up at him.

He smiled at her, amusement dancing in his blue eyes, and inclined his head. "My lady, you are fine?"

"Fine, yes." she murmured, her face burning, and quickly looked away.

Throin had spoken briefly with his guards, and then with a grin, turned and led the party off though the crowds in the huge chamber, and into a large hallway, singing to himself as they went.

He led them to a large set of oaken doors, guarded on either side. The guards quickly saluted, greeting Throin with a shout and glanced at the elves. Pausing only long enough to be sure all his guests were present, Throin nodded, and the doors were pushed open.


	4. King Durin

All characters in this story, mine aside (Throin, Linron, Renaith, Fendil, and several minor dwarves so far), are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No infringement is intended upon their use.

A/N: Alright, here it is [finally], a nice long chapter... Forgive the length of time I'm taking in Khazad-Dum, I'm as surprised as you are! Also, don't worry, Elrond will enter the story soon. R&R!, Thanks, moi. ^_~)

The first song is an Irish folk tune called Blow the Candle Out, published by Thomas Dufrey. The second is of my own devising, called Sanctuary. If you copy it, please give me the credit.

**IV ~ King Durin**

* * *

Following the others out of the dim corridor, Celebrían stepped into what seemed to be the throne room. Startled, she sucked her breath in through her teeth as the confines of the corridor vanished in the breathtaking size of the chamber. It was brightly lit, with tall greystone benches along the sides of the centre aisle, defined by rows of pillars. Outside the pillars, was a space several person's wide, and what appeared to be artifacts belonging to the dwarves hung elegantly along the walls. At the end of the room, a giant, glistening, crystalline stalactite and stalagmite joined the roof and the floor. Steps were carved into the crystal, as was the King's throne. The narrowest joining section of the crystals had to be at least an arm's reach across, and the whole room was lit by the glimmering light that reflected out of it from some unknown light source in the vein above them.

The group crossed the huge chamber, led by Throin. Celebrían's eyes moved wonderingly around the room, until they fell, as if drawn to, the dwarf in the throne. There he sat, King Durin the Mighty. He had led Khazad-Dum to its greatest fruition, and now nearing the end of his life, nearly glowed white with the immovable crystal that elevated him.

Reaching the foot of the throne, Throin bowed deeply, and the elves lowered their heads respectfully.

The wizened, white bearded face squinted. "And who have you brought me now, Throin? Elves?" The King's voice seemed unreal, resonating powerfully out of such a small, shrunken form. Celebrían was uncertain whether his beard was twitching from amusement, or his age.

"Your Majesty, may I present our visitors. This is Galadriel, her daughter Celebrían, and their companions, Linron, Fendil, and Renaith. They seek passage through Khazad-Dum. I thought it best that you saw them presently, for we have not had such visitors in quite some time."

After a lengthy pause, a rasping chuckle could be heard.

"Indeed," The King nodded, "Welcome to Khazad-Dum, friends. It has been lonely in these long years of darkness - a long time has passed since the hindmost elf graced our city." His bright eyes moved to Celebrían's mother, and he seemed to grow, becoming all at once more sturdy and authoritative, and radiated power. He nodded once again, briskly. "It is an honour to meet you, Galadriel. My forefathers spoke greatly of you."

Galadriel nodded in modesty.

He looked at her for another moment, in consideration, his head tilted to the side.

"You know that you are always welcome to travel through our borders, Lady Galadriel, but I must ask: Why, have you decided to travel now? How do you know you will be safe outside our Western gate?" Intensely intelligent eyes peered out of his face as he scrutinized Galadriel.

"I know that it is time to move West again." Galadriel answered simply. "I can feel the darkness has passed."

Durin studied Galadriel a moment in silence, and then he began to rise. One of the dwarves that was standing beside the throne stepped forward, and gently took his elbow, aiding him in his slow decent down the crystal throne's steps.

Pausing for a moment on the last stair, he looked up into Galadriel's face, and he seemed to diminish back into his shrunken frame. "I believe it would be best if we spoke more openly." He grumbled. "This tires me, and I hunger for my sup. Please-" He indicated an adjoining room, and he and Galadriel were led off.

* * *

After watching them leave, Throin turned to the remaining elves.

"Well, my tall friends, it appears you will have a moment to rest at last." He indicated the stone benches. "I, I am afraid, must be leaving you, but you may wait here for Galadriel. I will have some food sent, as I am certain you are famished. And please look around."

They thanked him gratefully, with smiles all around.

"Think nothing of it!" He chuckled. "I will see you shortly." That said, the dwarf bowed briskly, and strode out of the throne room with his assemblage of guards. The elves glanced among themselves.

"I don't know of you, but food sounds absolutely wonderful," Renaith said, and added with a grin, "Even if it is dwarven food."

"Renaith!" Linron laughed in feigned shock. "Do not insult your host, especially when you know not of what you speak!" He glanced sidelong at Celebrían. "My nephew has never been fed by the dwarves, and so naturally, he would not understand the magnitude of the insult he speaks." His eyes sparkled with delight.

"Alas, I do not remember my passage through the mountains," She said, and seeing the residual hope in Linron's eyes added, "not even the food."

He shook his head in dismay. "We'll have to refresh your memory then," He smiled.

"I hear they have a dish made of ground beasts. We could always chew on some leather..." Smiled Renaith sweetly.

"Ground ground-beast, especially," Added Fendil, "... I hear that's one of their specialties..."

Placing a hand on Celebrían's arm, he gave a stern look at the boys.

"Be sure that your sanity has returned before we reach Imladris, fools."

As they burst out in gales of laughter, he shook his head, and they stepped away from the young elves. They moved slowly down the chamber, silent, smiling in their amusement. After a minute, Linron broke the quiet.

"You truly have no memories of the city?"

She frowned, trying to think.

"I don't think... No.." She shook her head. "No. I have no memory of this place. When my father spoke to Galadriel and I, that last time..." Her voice faltered, "and said that he would not be coming..." She felt that moment of paralyzing loss all over again and for a moment, felt that she was careening over the edge of a great precipice. Biting her lip, she collected herself, and glanced back up at Linron as they stopped at the end of the hall.

"That is my last memory. Nothing of our flight. Everything is of Lorinand."

As she looked at him, he looked into her eyes, and she saw his face was filled with compassion and grief. "It must have been very painful." He began, but stopped, his eyes speaking more to her than any words. She felt the ache of a loved one lost move like a wave over her, filling her again, and she let herself feel again.

"I need to find him." Was all she said.

"I know." He looked down at the ground between them, and then raised his eyes back to her face. "You are much like me, Celebrían, you feel too deeply - too much." They stood a moment, looking into each others eyes. Slowly drawing in his breath, Linron stepped towards the young silver haired elf-maiden before him, and without much thought beyond his empathy for her feelings, placed a chaste, although lingering, kiss upon her lips. He stepped back, and as Celebrían moved her fingers wonderingly to her lips, he smiled gently. The moment was broken when a resounding cry suddenly echoed through the halls, and the voices of the two other elves rose quickly together in a boisterous song with rather rude connotations. Linron smirked, blue eyes disappearing into maroon slits as he suppressed his laughter.

"Perhaps I'd best teach them the appropriate words. We are, after all in the hall of a King." Breathless and wordless, Celebrían nodded, and he began across the hall to his fair nephews.

She turned around slowly. A look of delirious happiness stole across her face. She turned, and began walking along the outer wall, her thoughts full of what had just happened. Other than her parent's loving kisses, and those obligatory ones in greeting friends, she had never been kissed in a way that excited her in the way she presently felt. When Linron had placed his lips upon hers, she had felt a thrill, and then a sensation of squeezing in her chest. She found the feelings both baffling and exciting.

Moving quietly along the outside hall of the room, lost in her thoughts while looking at the artifacts that hung on the walls, she heard the voices of the three elves begin singing. Glancing out through the rows of pillars, she realized that she could watch them without their noticing. After a moment of hesitation, she let her eyes move over him.

Linron was tall for an elf, and his long roan hair fell over his shoulders in gleaming waves. Unlike most of his kin, he wore no braids in his hair, and little ornamentation. His cheerfulness and lighthearted personality made him stand out all the same, and all that knew him, loved him. He was now laughing and joking with his nephews, a brilliant smile on his face. With a smirk, Celebrían realized that it seemed to nearly be always on his features.

Smiling inwardly with his delight, Celebrían turned, continuing her tour of the room. She noticed a particularly large gem - blood red - and a plaque that seemed set aside from the others. Stepping nearer, she studied it, feeling an uncanny sense of familiarity as she looked on it. As her eyes began moving down the inscription, she realized that it had been made by Celebrimbor. She continued to read the inscription, and her hand unconsciously moved to her neck, seeking the weight of the Elessar. Galadriel had given her the green, silver winged stone, and had told her its story - how it too had been made by Celebrimbor. She felt nothing, though; she had removed the stone for the journey, but nevertheless, the power it held over her was still there. It's beauty was unsurpassed by anything in her eyes, even by the startling red stone before her. Continuing to read the inscription, her eyes moved down until they came to rest on the last line, added, seemingly, later than the others, as the marks were fresher in the stone.

The Children of Aulë lament forever with the passing of Celebrimbor in the last stand of the elves of Eregion, in the battle against the Great Evil. ~ 1697 of the Second Age.

"What...?" Her lips scarcely formed the word. Her mind raced, and she muttered under her breath, "1697. That was four years ago…"

With a gasp she sucked in a breath. Swaying uneasily, she stepped backwards into a pillar, and leaned into its solidity. Her head swam in chaos. "How can Celebrimbor be dead? How could we not have heard word of this?"

Questions flew through her mind, only feeding her confusion. "How could Galadriel not have known?!"

Four years. They had never heard anything, in the four years. With a sudden moment of absolute clarity, the man that had been dominating her thoughts for the last year then reentered her thoughts. "Oh Gods." She hissed. Panic gripped her core and squeezed. Her father. "Oh Gods..." What if something had happened? He could be dead and buried for all she knew - and the wars!

Her eyes roved upwards, seeking nothing, and she started to slip down the pillar. She stepped back into it, and slipped around to face the centre of the hall. She felt very small, and exposed, and as her eyes flicked through the suffocating hole she felt to be in, they came to rest on her companions. Without a thought, she began moving towards them, not even feeling her feet move, across the hall. She looked at them as if through a pane of glass. She realized that Linron was correcting Fendil and Renaith on one of the verses that they had been singing. They laughed, and sang the right one over a few times,

_They are embracing one another_

_Without a fear or doubt_

_Saying: Take me in your arms, my love,_

_And blow the candle out._

And then she reached them.

* * *

She watched as Linron noticed the form beside himself, and turned to see what it was. His eyes started at her feet, and slowly drew upwards. His smile grew as he realized who it was, but when he reached her face, his smile fled. She felt her eyes overflow, unbidden, and Linron jumped to his feet.

"Celebrían?" He uncertainly placed a hand on her elbow, but when she still only looked at him, in shock and anguish, he pulled her into his arms, cradling her head with one hand, while the other moved into the arch of her back. Like with the pillar, she felt all strength leave her, and for a moment, let him support her.

"Dead..." She murmured, her breath damp on her eyes and his shoulder. He held her tightly, his hand stroking the back of her neck. He said nothing, only holding her for a moment. He stepped back, and drew her on the bench, sitting close beside her as he did so. Renaith and Fendil, their previous gaiety fled, had also jumped up, and now knelt in front of where she sat.

"What is it? What has happened?" Linron demanded, his eyes boring into hers.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

He pulled her closer, and held her again. With his lips buried in her hair, he spoke gently, "Please, Celebrían, tell me. It torments my heart to see you suffering."

She only breathed for a moment, and then turned to look up into his face.

Her voice shook, but did not fail. "There is an inscription on the wall, on the other side of the hall." She gestured vaguely in the direction of the crimson gem. "It speaks of Celebrimbor. Of his death"

The three elves glanced amongst each other, alarm and surprise showing on their faces. Linron gathered a breath, and glanced again at Celebrían. Though they were all deeply surprised to hear of the great craftsman's death, he was aware that Celebrían had likely never met Celebrimbor, and her grief seemed incongruous with this albeit sad information. She seemed to be deeply afraid.

"But this is not why you weep, is it?"

She looked down into her hands, steeling herself to speak. "No. It is that he... he died four years ago."

He frowned. "Four years..."

She nodded, face wet, "If we never heard of the death of Celebrimbor, then..."

"Your father."

She didn't answer, only closed her eyes.

Linron said nothing for a moment, then, "We can do naught here," he mused, "Galadriel seemed confident that the wars were over... "

His hand rose and cupped her cheek, thumb brushing a tear away.

"We will continue, Celebrían. We are powerless at the moment. The only comfort I can give is that were we to ride into Imladris today or in a month, it will make no difference. As well, your mother seems unperturbed."

The soft words strengthened her, steeled her. She breathed deeply, and opened her eyes, looking into his blue ones. She felt pulled into their piercing depths, and she reached for him as he wrapped his arms around her.

She let her fears surface and subside, and she wept into his tunic as the voices of his nephews, one joining the other, sung to her in a gently murmured lilt to ease her fears.

_Here shall no one come to harm thee,_

_Naught shall ever break thine heart;_

_Rest, my darling sweet, in quiet,_

_And never shall we be apart._


	5. Mending

**V ~ Mending**

* * *

Fendil and Renaith moved to the benches beside Linron and sat quietly, feeling pain of sympathy for the young elf near them. Glancing up, Fendil saw a red haired dwarf moving toward them pushing a barrow stacked with steaming food. He attracted his brothers attention, and they silently rose to intercept the dwarf before he interrupted the other two. Taking the cart with thanks, they moved down the hall until they sat down at another bench and spoke while eating, discussing the implications of Celebrían's words. After a moment, they relinquished the food to find the inscription of which she spoke.

* * *

Celebrían's fingers were entwined in her friends tunic, and her breathing was slowing. She gradually calmed herself, and with a growing realization she perceived her position. Drawing a deep, fresh breath, she straightened herself and wiped the dampness from her face. With a slow blink, she looked into the concerned eyes beside her. Drawing another cleansing breath, she began to speak.

"Linron, forgive me..." But he cut her off, having also been thinking.

"Celebrían. We have been out of contact with our eastern kin for a long time. To find the first news of them is the death of so noble and well loved a man..." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "You shocked me as well. The death of Celebrimbor is too great a pain to be properly acknowledged here in this subterranean city. We will need to honour the First Son of Aulë with the air of the sky in our lungs and the sun in our hearts. We have been traveling slowly, and are divided from the home we love in Lorien. All this has been playing havoc in our minds and bodies. Don't apologize, Celebrían, you were only the first to know." His steady gaze was slowly strengthening her, and she felt her worries abating. They sat in silence, wrapped in their own thoughts.

With her mood lifting, Celebrían had the sudden insight that ever since their exit from Lorinand, she had been feeling unconsciously apprehensive and quietly distressed. Now, in the aftermath of her emotional upheaval, she began to feel her normal personality returning. She smiled with unexpected brightness at Linron, and after glancing around for his young nephews, she saw the cart of food.

"It seems the food has arrived. Shall we?"

Linon nodded, and they made their way over.

* * *

After eating and reuniting with Fendil and Renaith, the elves voiced their thoughts on the death of the famous craftsman. The death of any elf was never forgotten, but for them to know with certainty of the death of so powerful and influential an elf, the reality of the war was driven home. They ate rich stew and meat, with boiled root vegetables and cheese. The hearty fare was delicious, and all felt their strength growing along with their composure. Relaxing, each with a cup of mead in their hands, they reminisced, and speculated about their destination - this city of Imladris that Galadriel had spoken of.

All they knew of Imladris was that it was a new Elven city. Hidden somewhere in the hills north of Eriador, and founded by Elrond, a rather mysterious elf of some renown. He was said to be half human, and highly respected by the great Elvish king, Gil-Galad.


	6. Questions

**VI ~ Questions**

* * *

She had watched the others in the dark as they slept the night before - in the morning she still recalled how rich and black Linron's open eyes had been in his slumber. Despite her emotional release, she still felt somewhat out of sorts, and was musing over it when she rose the next day. Breakfast was short and sweet, with everyone feeling better, but her feeling lingered. She had been trying to place why she still felt that a piece of her was missing, and after dwelling silently on the puzzle for a few minutes her hand rose to her bare throat, and she rose with a start.

"Of course!"

The others glanced up, Linron's face a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.

"Excuse me, friends!" She ran across the hall, feeling lighter already. In a last thought, she turned back. "I won't be long!" And she burst out of the king's hall, her thoughts already racing ahead to her gear.

* * *

The halls of Khazad-Dum were huge, and decorated richly with draperies, statues and fountains. Though Celebrían came to the realization slowly, she eventually acknowledged that was lost. The towering tunnels seemed to stretch on forever, and all the doors looked alike. Still feeling hopeful, she cast her eyes about in search for another sign of life. Her surroundings had changed, the draperies disappearing, and being replaced with barer walls and dimmer lighting. With no sign of anyone, she let out her breath in a huff, and broke into a jog to get around the next corner. Her eyes roved, and she was beginning to feel quite worried when at last she spotted a dwarf. "At last!" she thought, and called out. When the short figure turned, it let out a startled scream and dropped what it had been carrying and stumbled backwards. As she approached the dwarf, Celebrían was surprised to see a young woman, obviously panicked, and trying to get to her feet.

"I'm sorry for startling you," she began earnestly.

The dwarven girl paused, and after slowly appraising the elf for a few moments and calming herself, she rose. "You are an elf, are you not?"

"Yes, and I..." She was cut off.

"What in the name of Aulë are you doing here!?"

"Well," Celebrían stammered, "I was looking for my horse and belongings, but I seem to be lost."

"A good observation," The girl stated bluntly. "Hardly anybody comes down these halls. I don't have a single inkling of how you managed to find yourself here." Her eyes narrowed, suddenly distrustful of this towering creatures intentions, and naturally suspicious of them. There were many places in the mountain that no dwarf would allow an outsider to enter. "Have you seen anything?"

"Seen what?"

The girl eyed her warily. Then, seeming to realize that she was, indeed, simply lost, she relinquished her feelings of distrust.

"No, then. Come, I'll take you to where a guard will bring you to your belongings."

After being led through the maze like labyrinth of tunnels, the girl brought Celebrían to a guard who took her to the rooms where the horses were being kept. He grew quite apprehensive as they approached the metal gates, and after letting Celebrían in and being by her told that she did not need an escort, he immediately relaxed. Many dwarves were naturally fearful of the tall, long-legged animals.

Celebrían closed the gate behind her, and walked into the room. It was full of pillars, the horses moved freely around the walls, and had been given hay and various grains for fare. The animals had been stripped of their burdens, and Celebrían wondered where the packs had been taken.

The horses had raised their heads at her entrance, and crowded around her for attention. Her bay nuzzled her shoulder and leaned up against her in comfort. Leaning back into the furry coat, she breathed deeply the horsy smell. She apologized to him for forgetting a snack, and scratched all his itchy places as he presented them to her. She stroked his nose, and spoke quietly to him, then, glancing around, noticed an archway blocked by a rope strung across the entrance. "There!" She thought, and moved toward the columns that marked the door.

"They missed you."

She whirled around, and saw Linron's head and arms leaning over the back of his grey. A huge smile split her face. She walked towards him and stroked the dappled side of his horse.

"I already missed them too."

"I came down because... I thought they'd want to see a familiar face."

She smiled at his thoughtfulness, recalling his peacefulness in sleep, and felt the familiar pulling sensation in her stomach.

"Are the belongings in the next room?"

"Yes, I should open them up to air"

She nodded. "I just came to get something."

With a smile and a final pat to the horse, she turned toward the door. Linron walked around the horse and followed her. The room was fairly small, and held all they had brought, along with greens for the horses. The room was largely dark, as no lanterns were lit, but natural crystalline structures in the vault carried a weak light into the space from above. Linron moved to he packs of his nephews, and unrolled the food they had brought, and their belongings, eventually doing the same to his own and Galadriel's.

After rooting through her pack, Celebrían found at last what she had been looking for. Her throat caught as she lifted the green gem from its leather pouch. Though there was little light in the chamber, the stone glowed with a life of its own. She felt herself immediately renewed. Her lips parted and she silently breathed, "Elfstone. The Elessar..." After gazing at the silver eagle that cradled the stone in its wings, she stood. Holding the chain, she lifted it, but fumbled with the clasp and the sheer weight of the gem, and couldn't manage to clasp it around her neck. Linron glanced up at her from the spot where he kneeled on the floor. She grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

"Help?" Linron asked, eyebrows raised.

"Please?" A tiny smile crept into the side of her mouth in embarrassment.

He rose and walked across the small space to her side. She could hear his breathing and smell the horses on him. He stepped to her back and her long silver hair, gathering it gently and lifting it over her shoulder. He was so close she could sense him, feel him. He took the two ends of the chain, placing his hands around hers, and brought them to the nape of her neck. The touch exhilarated her, and the memory of their brief kiss flooded back into her mind, and she felt her stomach flutter. She could feel the warmth of his body at her back. Linron gently clasped the latch on the chain, and let it go, setting the weight on her neck, hands still around hers.

They stood without moving for a moment, then Linron slowly ran his hands down her still raised arms to her sides, leaning in with his breath by her ear. She opened her hands and almost unable to comprehend her brashness herself, placed them on his jaw, running them down his neck.

"Celebrían," He murmured, sending shivers down her spine. Bending his head, he breathed on her neck, his lips brushing her shoulder. Feeling an incredible drawing in her stomach, she turned and faced him, his hands on her waist. Linron's eyes were deep pools of mahogany, liquid and drawing. They moved across her face to her shoulders and neck, and then came to rest on the green stone that lay between her breasts, before rising again to her face.

She raised her hands nervously to his face and placed one on the side of his neck, while the other moved to hesitantly to his lips. He kissed the fingertip, and feeling her gentle touch to his jaw, lowered his head and caught her lips in his. She leaned in, and the kiss deepened. Celebrían felt faint as he traced the outline of her upper lip with his tongue, and pushing, opened her mouth, and explored it gently.

The feelings overwhelming her, a soft groan escaped her lips, encouraging him, and she reciprocated, pushing into his mouth. His hands stroked her sides, then down resting on her buttocks, and moved again up to cup a breast. She pulled back gently, cheeks hot, and ran her hands down across his muscled chest, feeling for the first time the body of a man. She explored his torso, shoulders, her fingers drawing lines of fire over his skin through the leather tunic where her tears had fallen. He pulled her again to him, burying his face in her hair, and pushing her to the wall, ravenously explored her curves through her gown with burning hands. Feeling that her heart would break with the unfamiliar drawing, yearning, aching feelings, she twined her fingers in his hair and gave herself into the sensations and havoc his hands created in her. Feeling her trembling under him, his desire almost took him over. She panted in his ear, hands clasping and pulling his tunic, uncertain and trusting, and he almost took her there.

Almost.

Slowly, he pulled back, taking his weight and muscle off of her, and gazed into her eyes, dilated and filled with deep longing, and now, confusion.

"I didn't come here to see the horses, Celebrían" He confessed, nestling his face in her silver hair again. "When you rose, I knew you would come here."

He drew his face back from her, and then, took in fully her panting, flushed appearance. As he looked at her, he felt suddenly ashamed. She was young, so young, and so inexperienced. Her blossoming adulthood had misled him. He had behaved as though she was experienced with men, but as was clearly evident in her hesitant movements and breathless uncertainty, she was not. He drew a breath and stepped backward again. Her hands which had been buried in his chest were hesitantly withdrawn.

"I'm sorry Celebrían." He cleared his throat. "That was… inappropriate of me."

"But..." Her delicate brows furrowed, and her eyes met him, face still flushed. "Linron... I... you..." Unable to find the words she wanted - to express how she had longed for him, how pleased she was when he took her hand - when he had kissed her first, and held her in her tears. And now... the feelings he evoked, had ignited in her... it was indescribable... She searched his face desperately looking for an answer.

Her gaze almost undid him. She was so trusting, so incredibly beautiful. So young. And so fragile. He wanted to ravish her and to shelter, protect her at the same time. But now was not the time, nor the place. He lowered his eyes.

"Please forgive me, Celebrían." He took a deep breath. "I should not have come here."

Without meeting her gaze, Linron stepped away and out of the small chamber, strode past the horses, and out of the room.


	7. Preparations

**A/N: At last! Here it is! I hope to release a chapter every Sunday, although I will apologize in advance, because the next chapter will likely be later than 1 week (hectic travel schedule this week). Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to continue- I'm glad to be writing again. Please, please review!**

**~ Maiaron**

* * *

With grey eyes narrowing against the cold dawn sun, the elf slowly raised an elbow to his ear. The only earthly noise to be heard was the velvety metallic noise of a sword being slowly withdrawn from its scabbard, in sonic harmony to the movement of his shoulders. Upon reaching his ready position, he held. The scene was one of utter stillness and poise. In the near distance, an airy, falsetto bird song could be heard, then seemingly becoming aware of the growing tension, abruptly stopped. It seemed that movement and noise had ceased for eternity.

With a sudden roar he exploded forward in a flurry of flashing steel and the fluttering leather of his doublet. Left, right, flank, arm, his blade landed everywhere upon the wooden training post. He approached the post with incredible fury and unchecked momentum, eventually colliding with it.

With a disgusted cough as his shoulder drove into the post, bent nearly double, he swallowed and gasped a breath.

As he leaned into the post, his face was obscured by deep brown hair. If one could see his mien, they would not recognize this creature as himself. His face was contorted, his eyes squeezed shut, and mouth stretched a tight as a bow string. It was clearly apparent that, although still gasping for breath after the furious attack, his mind was many miles away. Perhaps in a different place, a different time… different circumstances.

It was in this moment that a tall, silver haired elf, witness to the attack on the post, leapt forward and clapped a hand upon the bent back of the former.

"Now! Now, now, my friend! That was good, but you must not pause for so long between your attacks – you'd be ten times dead to the blades of this post's friends by now. We are here to train, are we not?"

The bent elf's eyes flicked up to the elf standing over him, narrowed. Upon landing on his friend's face, they widened, and he drew a large breath, hastily standing tall, glancing into the distance.

"My apologies, Celeborn. I became… distracted."

Moving to see the horizon where his friend looked, the silver haired elf swallowed and drew a breath before speaking.

"It is understandable, Elrond. We have seen terrible sights these last years, and too many of our kin have died. The war _is_ over though. Use the training to regain your focus. Imladris is strong, no longer do you need to fret over this place constantly. Find your rhythm. It is here." Celeborn tapped the centre of his torso. He looked intently into the other elf's face.

Elrond closed his eyes and squared his shoulders. "Yes. You are correct, and I appreciate your candor. I will try." He looked over to his friend, banishing the terrible images of the last few decades from his mind… the deaths, the mortification of the bodies by the enemies… Despite his will, the image of Celebrimbor's body, pierced by dozens of arrows, being born upon a pike as a banner to his foes flashed into his mind. He heard the rushing of blood in his ears, and echoes of orc screams seemed to be all around him. A sudden wave of nausea washed over him, and raising his free hand to his eyes, he dropped his head into his hand.

Celeborn glanced over, and seeing the serious elf grow pale, gently took the sword from Elrond's hand, sheathing it for him.

"Perhaps that is enough for today, my friend. I was hoping that this would help you to find some release, but perhaps it is not having the effect I hoped."

Elrond nodded his assent. The sword play had had undoubtedly uncorked some unanticipated emotional reactions. Elrond was grateful for the astute and intelligent companion he had in Celeborn. The elf had been indispensable during the battles, and even now was helping Elrond to pull his doubt and his consternation away from dominating his life. Although he could not be certain, Elrond often suspected that perhaps his inclination to doubt and dwell on darkness was a human weakness. Perhaps his elvish intuition was muddled by his human blood, leaving him slightly less confident in his decisions than other elves might be. He shook his head.

"Thank you for bringing me to here, Celeborn, but I need to see to the last of the preparations for Gil-Galad's return with the wounded." He gave a slight inclination of his head, and Celeborn returned it, acknowledging Elrond's exit.

As Elrond turned to leave, his feet leading him to his study, his thoughts returned to the recent days. Sauron's army had been defeated. Crushed like an egg between Elrond's forces from Imladris, and Gil-Galad's army from the south. The battle had been won, but at a terrible cost, including the loss of Eriador – all its beauty and power, wiped out. Crumbled apart with the stones of its city and washed from the land in rivers of blood. The city was utterly decimated. Those able to travel in the days after had been directed north, to Imladris, led by Elrond, and it was here that the survivors were beginning to pick up the pieces of the wreckage of the war. Gil-Galad had stayed behind to see to the collection of the wounded, and to ensure no orcs remained there to waylay travelers. He felt a moment of anxiety, that the mighty Gil-Galad would be his guest here, in Imladris. Elrond had initially chosen this valley as a camp, looking for a safe place for his wounded to heal during the greatest heat of the wars just four years ago, in 1697.

Though relatively rustic, the beauty of the location had encouraged the healed elves that year to build several great halls and terraces, where the wounded could better recover. In the cleft of several deep mountains, and surrounded by falling water and deep, rich greenery, when they had arrived here they nearly fell into the valley as one would a deep feather bed. Blinded by pain and blood, Elrond knew the sense of peace he felt here held some significance, and so here they sojourned. By Arda, the walls had nearly sprung up from the ground of their own will then. Yes, Elrond thought, it was beautiful. Simple, yes. Rustic, yes. But the breathtaking beauty of this land was beyond question. In the four years since then, the wars had continued, and crippled men and elves who were unable to continue fighting in the wars were maintained there as their hands could still work. Artists, musicians, and the young continued along with them. The number and skill of the healers was increased as well. Though only four years had passed, Imladris was growing.

As Elrond reached his study, and laid his hands across his desk, a young flaxen haired elf jogged up. "Sir, we have received word that King Gil-Galad's company is 2 days hence. They bring with them the last of the wounded, a count of nearly 400 elves and Númenórean men."

Elrond nodded. With a hitch in his breath, he was overwhelmed by two conflicting emotions. He was greatly relieved that they were prepared. He had healers and beds enough for 700. He would be able to accommodate them all. As Gil-Galad's lieuteneant, he was as well prepared as he could be for them. However, he had been anticipating far more, and had been feeling seriously worried that he would not have facilities for all the wounded. His mouth soured at the thought that the price of their victory had been so high. Only 400 wounded meant that the casualties were greater by far than his calculations.

"Inform the healers of their imminent arrival, and of the number of wounded arriving. Tell them that if they need any more supplies to inform me, and I will see it done."

As the young elf nodded briskly and turned to leave, Elrond removed his sword belt and scabbard from his hip, and sat at last, tenting his hands upon the desk in front of him. He doubted the healers would want for anything. He drew a breath and cleared his mind. He was enveloped in silence. Silence, he mused, that would be in relatively short supply for the coming months. Fewer wounded were arriving than he had expected, but Imladris would house them. And he would be host to the last high King of the Noldor.


	8. Arrivals

**A/N: My apologies for the delay. Hope to be back to a weekly schedule with these updates! R&R! -M**

* * *

**VII ~ Arrivals**

The sun was rising.

Standing on a balcony facing the southern reaches of Imladris, Elrond watched the first rays of light break free above the mountains to the west, blazing a path of red glow on the hills of the valley to the east. He drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean air, and settling his mind. Today, if the scouts were accurate, would be the day that Gil-Galad would arrive. Today, the influx of deathly ill and wounded would arrive, and all of his preparations would be put to the test. Today, he would receive Gil-Galad at this city of his construction; the King of the Noldor would enter Imladris.

He was grateful, he mused, that he would be able to meet with Gil-Galad again. The mighty intelligence and knowledge of his ruler was renowned, and Elrond was hopeful that his work in Imladris in the time since driving Sauron from Eregion would be pleasing to the King. However, he was utterly exhausted. He could not remember a time in his life like the last few hundred years. He was grateful that they seemed to be entering into a respite from the wars, and was hesitantly hopeful that this would be the end of their dealings with Annatar – No, he corrected himself, Sauron, whom had been forced to retreat at last.

As he leaned onto the balustrade, he noted that the river Bruinen seemed to be gleaming especially brightly this dawn, and he thought that it was particularly lovely in the morning light. His eyes narrowed. "The shining is moving north…" He mused. And his body abruptly straightened. As he began to turn, realizing what he was seeing, the young elf from two days before burst into his hall.

"Elrond, the host of the King is within sight! They will arrive within two hours."

"Excellent," Elrond said, mid stride, "Thank you Lindir. Please notify the healers of this information. Inform our strong to also prepare – they can assist in carrying the wounded, and will relieve those who have been made weary by their journey. Have as many hands made to be ready as is possible within half an hour. Also, have my horse prepared – I intend to ride out to meet the King." He turned to leave, and then stopped.

"A moment, Lindir?" The elf he addressed nodded. "Please inform Celeborn of this, and invite him to join me." The young elf bowed and left.

* * *

Within fifteen minutes, Elrond and Celeborn were cantering down the valley of the Bruinen, followed more distantly by elves of Rivendell who would be aiding in the end of the wounded's journey. Elrond and Celeborn followed the eastern shores of the river south, the sun still low in the morning sky. At a steady canter, they reached the slow moving vanguard within 40 minutes, and slowed their horses to a trot.  
"WHO GOES THERE?" Bellowed the elf leading the vanguard they approached. He was tall, and seated upon a red horse, and was bearing the sigil of the King. They were still quite distant though, and the bright light of the morning sun flickering through the banner the elf carried was making it unusually difficult to discern his features.

"I am Elrond, lieutenant to the King, and founder of Imladris, and with me is Lord Celeborn of Lorien," He called in response. As they closed the final distance, he recognized the elf he approached. With a laugh, he urged his horse ahead, and extending his arm, he grasped the forearm of the elf upon reaching him. "Erestor! My friend – it has been too long." His eyes crinkled, and the other elf laughed. Elrond looked his friend up and down. "By the Valar, you are a sight for sore eyes." Erestor, though he carried himself proudly, was clearly stained and rumpled from many long days on the highway. His tunic was torn, and had clearly been repaired many times. It was covered in stains of blood, dirt, and sweat.

Erestor shrugged, and chuckled. "We have not had the opportunity to clean up, and been travelling slowly for some time, Elrond." His eyes moved to Celeborn. "Ah, Celeborn, it is a pleasure to see you as well. Elrond, I do hope you have prepared for us. We are all tired of this journey, and the wars. I must say that I am grateful our journey is nearly over. Come, let us find the King. Gil-Galad is looking forward to speaking with you."

* * *

Hours later, the front end of the King's group was filtering in to Imladris. Elrond and Celeborn had been received on the road by King Gil-Galad, and upon entering Imladris, Gil-Galad's eyes flew open in surprise, and then fell with pride on Elrond's face. He threw an arm over Elrond, and praised him warmly, telling him that Imladris exceeded his expectations. He was clearly delighted. Elrond humbly accepted the praise, explaining that the city had almost risen of its own volition out of the fecundity of the valley the last several years.

Círdan, the shipwright from the Havens rode with the King, and after seeing to the organization of receiving the new arrivals, Elrond, Celeborn, Círdan, Erestor, and the King settled in the rooms of Elrond to rest. There, they shared the news that they were aware of, updates on the armies, and verification of Sauron's complete exodus from Eriador. They ate, the sun set, and they laughed. For the first time in too many years, all were relaxed.

As they basked in their satiety, the gaiety gradually subsided. Gil-Galad stood, and upon clearing his throat, began to speak. "My friends – I am pleased to have arrived safely in this beautiful city. We are truly lucky to rest here, together, after losing too many." Nods were shared amongst the others. Elrond felt his mind return again to the harrowing image of Celebrimbor's maimed body borne on a pike, and shuddered. After allowing them a moment with their private thoughts, Gil-Galad turned and gazed out of the window at the stars, seemingly to gather his words. "I have a few announcements to make, and I wished the four of you here to know them first. My first item of business is to install one of my greatest assets into your hands, Elrond." Elrond glanced up, surprised. "Erestor has served me well these past few years, and now that you are responsible for all of this," he gestured at the walls and room about them, and raised his eyebrows, "you will need a right hand as strong and reliable as you. Erestor shall serve you now, Elrond. He will not disappoint you."

With a gracious bow, and a grin, Erestor acknowledged the transition of his station. Elrond mused that he had been informed of this previously.

"More importantly, however, we need to begin moving forward with the trauma to our kingdom. Eregion is a wasteland. I am calling a council, collecting all of our greatest minds. Elrond, you will host us, and your input will be of great value. The lady Galadriel will arrive in a few days. Then we shall determine the future of the elvish peoples of the West."

Celeborn glanced at his compatriots and stood. "My liege, if we send for Galadriel, it will be at least a month before she can be here."

"She has already crossed under the mountains, Celeborn. She will be here within 10 days." And with that, the King left them all speechless, and he retired.


End file.
